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poetry
Satish Verma, 9 august 2020
An Acid Attack
Sometimes I would
look at the lame moon. For
whom you were faltering?
Perhaps, I was a
mirror. You trip, fall
and become a raw wound.
One day I will
touch you with my ragged
hands, to heal my knife.
Satish Verma, 8 august 2020
New Family
To be honest, there
was no poem today.
A refusal to celebrate
the loss of truth in me.
The weather is climbing.
They have assembled to-
disgorge the peace efforts.
War was in our blood.
The great divide of
guillotines and blessed swords,
to behead or not to behead
the god.
There was very little good
in the evil designs.We have
logic and logistic problems.
You do not want a friend, only enemies.
The rebellion, the treason,
the betrayals, all were meant
to upgrade your divinity.
let us revert back to animal status.
The bread, land and water are one.
Satish Verma, 7 august 2020
The Intense Pain
It was unbashed invasion,
and then you were paraded naked.
The marrow was depressed.
I will not be able to collect you.
Lost in thoughts, I
am losing you in every book.
There was no striving,
to be called by any name, any monument.
Hyperplasia. The rot has set in
Would you come to greet the death one day?
There was a speaking ache.
Word was me, I was the tongue.
The turgid lips still remember.
Once the sting was here to take a kiss.
Satish Verma, 6 august 2020
Looming Large
The art of losing the
core-hurts, standing in deepest
mood.
You want to see, what your
prefrontal cortex thinks.
The suffering: the debris
fall on the eyes.
Vast Greenland melts.
The terror strikes. You
inherit the barren land.
I start talking with the
spirits. In the shoe box, lies the
past. The water was rising
in eyes. The scent of moon
sometimes misses the earth.
The butterflies, sometimes
come, declare the deadline
for garden prayers.
Satish Verma, 5 august 2020
My China Broke
There was an endless war
between you and me O god
from time immemorial, in the
desert zone.
The scorching harsh light
of sun has spread the veins
of earth with burning oil wells.
Green pods will not open the round eyes.
Now the sky was crying.
Songbirds are gone.The thick-skulled
were trying to find the scapegoats.
The king lies.Wants
to kill the night's moons.How much
big mouth was your's? I wanted
to serve my land.There were
no more waters, which
carried the flight of blue dreams.
Just because, I wanted to tell you
it was not easy to live any more.
Satish Verma, 4 august 2020
Not The God
A fathomless abyss,
you feel the power of wordless going.
Sperms leave,
when you smell your own blood.
The roasted pig,
or degenerating rhyme.
What would be your pick;
the dopamine?
The serotonin,
the medulla?
The radar will not follow you.
You are alone.
A tiny dot moving on the screen of life.
The morality was at risk,
with no window.
Satish Verma, 2 august 2020
Many Headed Snake
The spat between the hydra
and sea,
was the end of perfect relationship.
Now an unqualified, unknowing-
will take on the depression.
Were you feeling liberated? I would ask the moment.
Let us delete
the faces and go to war
without limbs.
This was a summer afternoon.
The books are in cauldron-
and you are praying alone.
Satish Verma, 1 august 2020
The Earthen Death
Spurned,
staring into a void-
for a door,
burning a sage.
Wearing a veil to ward off
the curse.
You start the baby steps
getting there, near the noose,
weighing the planks.
Now you are breathing fast,
getting a hit, counting
the hymns.
The corrupt booms
rise and fall.
An overt withdrawal
from the bet, to sacrifice the bliss.
White lilies washed,
in tears, let down the shawls.
You can see the holy vice.
Satish Verma, 31 july 2020
With Dignity
What is that of this,
I will ask from the question
which sleeps on the twisted lip.
The probity suffers,
when you burn your white paper.
Why did not you write your name?
The cortex invades
medulla. Your kidneys falter.
The sense and price become one.
A nude opend the pride.
The curves, the slants will
ask you to become the flic,
but you become a god,
accept the knife's version
and bleed to death.
Satish Verma, 30 july 2020
Between This And That
There was a trust deficit
between the rose petals, under
the wheels and the moving feet.
It does not resolve the ancient
conflict of man with
the machine via perfume.
The smell of the pungent smoke,
sits in the empty chairs,
when you were left alone on the burning deck.
Where the sky meets
the ocean, my ship had sunk
amidst the blood and the blaze.
In absentia, I am baffled
by the time's minute, when the search
of the self goes unending.
Latest comments:
11 october 2024
sam53
jesień tak ma... :)))
10 october 2024
violetta
Piękne kwiaty, chcę takie na balkon:)
10 october 2024
Jaga
Zawsze znienacka jesień życia...
10 october 2024
Groch przez wieki był rzucany/ dzisiaj ściana
10 october 2024
Georginie jesienne :)
10 october 2024
Tak :))
10 october 2024
:)
10 october 2024
Muchomor czerwony, trujący. Ponoć wzięty przez
10 october 2024
:))))
10 october 2024
Eva T.
Jadalny?
10 october 2024
Link skierowal mnie do yyszukiwarki Google. Cytat
10 october 2024
:))
11 october 2024
Satish Verma
10 october 2024
wiesiek
10 october 2024
Jaga
10 october 2024
Eva T.
10 october 2024
Satish Verma
9 october 2024
wiesiek
9 october 2024
Satish Verma
8 october 2024
wiesiek
8 october 2024
Satish Verma
7 october 2024
Jaga